


Sticky Fingers

by kleine_aster



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, Banter, Barebacking, Bondage, Humiliation, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 15:35:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kleine_aster/pseuds/kleine_aster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the holiday season, and Jason and Damian are bad at BDSM and relationships simultaneously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sticky Fingers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iamjasonssmirkingrevenge (mizzykitty)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizzykitty/gifts).



> **Title:** Sticky Fingers  
>  **Pairing:** Jason Todd, Damian Wayne  
>  **Summary:** It's the holiday season, and Jason and Damian are bad at BDSM and relationships simultaneously.   
> **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Warnings:** A little bit of bondage, a little bit of humiliation, a little bit of orgasm denial … a little bit of everything, really. And probably too much introspection for a PWP.  >.>  
>  **Words:** 4,572  
>  **Notes:** It always seems natural to make Damian the dominant one, and usually I do. But then again, he's so cute when you get to feel a little sorry for him. Written for the Batfam Christmas Exchange for Mizzy Kitty, who gave me some great prompts. I was looking forward to posting this, since this is the first Jason/Damian sex scene I wrote that I _don't_ hate. XD

"You know what your problem is, don't you," he softly says to him, fingering the steel of his rifle because he really wants to finger something else and can't let himself. "You're too proud to beg. And it's not doing you any favors."

He presses his back into the wall, rifle hard and cold across his knees, dick hard and hot between his legs. The strain against his zipper is taxing, it's bad, real bad, but probably not as bad as the boy has it now.

Jason's eyes are gleaming as he appraises his work. It's _excellent_. His best one yet. And _festive_ , too.

Robin, the fifth of his name, bound, blindfolded, virginal, never known a gentle touch in his life, platonic hugs by Dick Grayson excepted.

Jason has tied his hands to the back of the heaviest chair he'd found, but that's nowhere near enough for this kid. The legs, you have to pay special attention to those legs, because much like in the case of his mentor, Nightwing, Damian's strong, lean thighs are weapon-grade levels dangerous. Jason has tied each of his ankles to one of the chair's legs, which has the added effect of forcing them wide apart, giving him a good look of the tragic spectacle going on between them. The rest of the sturdy cable zig-zags around his belly and torso like a vine, then wraps around his neck, not so tight as to choke him, but tight enough to not let him forget how trapped he is.

When Jason leans forward, it's like he can almost _feel_ the heat rising from the brat's neglected, aching crotch, even though he knows it's impossible. It's also impossible for Damian to see his mocking head-tilt, but he can probably guess it from the tone of his voice.

"How's that working out for you?" Jason asks, not unkindly.

There's no scowling, no bitching, no kicking, only more flat, labored breathing as the boy works on his task. Jason watches the taut muscles snake around underneath his dark skin as he tries to move nothing but his busy, slippery fingers. With every move too many, the contraption he's in tightens around him, locking him in deeper. He's seems completely focused on what his hands are doing, as if to try to distract himself _and_ his captor from how horny he is. For some reason, the fact that this gets him hard seems to be more embarrassing to him than being tied up in Mr and Mrs Nakahashi's best and brightest Christmas decorations.

Jason doesn't know Mr and Mrs Nakahashi, but he knows that they live in these fine suburbs, and that they're away for the holidays, leaving their nice little house unattended. Personally, he thinks he's doing them a favor by dropping by to test the quality of their alarm system (it's not so good) and utilize their stuff for some important business. If he gets tired of watching Damian trying to not rub his sad, lonely erection on his restraints – though to be honest, that's never going to happen – he can still pop on some Christmas tunes. And hey, if some burglars decide to show up, he can take those down, too. Leave them for the Nakahashis as a Thank You-note. He's even brought his own Teen Wonder to assist him in the arrest. That is, if Teen Wonder manages to unpack himself in time.

Doesn't look like he will. Jason has gotten better and better at tying knots, while Damian has only grown hornier and more impatient, so the scales are clearly tipping in the Red Hood's favor.

Jason clicks his tongue. "This is getting stale," he announces, even though his husked-up voice and the harsh spasms in his loins confirm the opposite, "Five more minutes, and I'm off."

He can see Damian painfully wince at the word "off", and it's not surprising.

At least the Nakahashis won't have to worry about him getting cumstains on their precious carpet. Damian has never once spilled his seed in Jason's presence, because he's told him that if he wants to come, he needs to beg him for permission. Which, of course, he'll never. Kid'll even take a face full of jizz and still hold back, even when it looks as if a feather landing on his glans would be all it'd take to set him off. That's the crazy thing about this boy; you can bind him and gag him and tell him that he has to _earn_ getting his rocks off, and _he buys it._

Jason guesses that it makes some sense. In Damian's world, things don't come without conditions; not presents, not love, not even the right to live. It all has to be earned, _needs_ to be earned, to be payed for in blood, and he works _so hard_ at it. Damian is highly skilled, highly trained, smart as a whip, but somewhere underneath that, he's a soldier boy.

To Jason, it's a game, but he's starting to suspect that Damian _actually_ believes that this is how sex always works. He knows he should probably be alarmed, but now he's kinda gotten morbidly curious to see how far this deranged determination goes. And watching him squirm with his unused cock twitching in the air is mesmerizing – 

The boy snaps him out of his filthy, dripping thoughts when he barks, " _Eight_."

It's remarkable how brassy and clear his voice is, even though he's been panting for relief those last endless minutes.

He takes his time to reply, lights himself a cigarette, blows the smoke in his direction; Damian hates that. "Right. You _can_ talk," he quips. "Thanks for reminding me. Sorry, what was that?"

"It's _eight_ minutes, not _five_ ," Damian communicates through gritted teeth, not once resting his knuckles. "You said I get _fifteen_."

He sounds smug, like he's so proud that he's memorized that arbitrary time limit Jason has given him for freeing himself. But even his natural smugness seems forced and strained now.

Oh. Yeah. He's promised him a treat if he makes it in time. That detail is so important to him that he's forgotten all about it until now. But of course, Damian takes him by his word, because he does those things.

"I've been counting down in my head," he adds, as if he deserves a prize or maybe a loving tug on his dick for that. "And, by the way. That means I didn't get any of that leering drivel you spouted these last seven minutes." His bratty, pinched badger face is twitching. "I hope it wasn't _important_."

Jason shrugs, takes his cigarette in the other hand, gives the sensitive tip of the boy's cock a playful flick of his nail, which earns him a downright sub-human groan.

"Fine," he suggests, "Take your time. Gives me the chance to do _this_."

He hasn't even gotten to the main attraction yet. He puts the rifle onto the fireplace's mantle, gets up, walks over to the closest wall socket – not without gently squeezing the blindfolded boy's neck as he passes, which elicits a deep shiver – and plugs in the cord.

"There," he says, " _Lovely._ "

Damian can't see it, but he knows what's happened, and Jason is rewarded by a frustrated roar as he intensifies his efforts to shed the binding wires. 

"You look _beautiful,_ " Jason informs him, crossing his arms. "That tacky tree they put up on Park Row hasn't got _shit_ on you right now."

He's not lying; he _does_ look beautiful, little flecks of gold illuminating smooth, dark skin. It's almost surreal; like he's literally bound by light.

There's another component too, of course.

"I'd pick up the pace, or this'll get painful," he reminds him, "Those things are tiny, but they'll start to sting something fierce in a couple minutes."

"Your _conversation's_ painful," Damian hisses at him, but he can hear the real concern in his voice. Jason sees the tip of his tongue work its way out from between his full, but graceless lips. He's very very focused now, and he's getting closer, in more ways than one.

So maybe it's time to throw him some distraction.

Jason returns to lean down to him, leans close, just out of reach, and he can see the boy's concentration waver. Damian's head shoots up, immediately, predictably, because despite being the exact opposite of stupid, he thinks he'll get a kiss or something. He gets like that sometimes. Damian has never been kissed by anyone but him, and he craves it, those little fleeting exchanges of affection and spit.

But he lets him suck at dry, cold air, flicks his tongue across his temple instead, tasting the saltiness of treacherous little beads of sweat.

"You're all wet," he points out him. Beneath him, Damian is obviously torn between working on his restraints and rubbing himself against him. "I thought that _never_ happens." He smiles against his skin, so Damian can feel it, nuzzles his head against him until the boy melts into his touch, completely starved for this kind of attention. And it's almost sweet for a moment, but Jason only does it so he can reach his ear and whisper, "Do you sweat like that in the cave when your daddy works you over?"

He's still grinning when he feels Damian grow completely still, knot slipping out of his fingers. It mortifies him, every time, when Jason brings his father into play. Foolish. He should expect it by now. And from him, of all people.

The fight hasn't gone out of him completely, however. Damian moves as fast as a snake, and Jason barely manages to get his face out of reach before the boy can rip a good chunk of it out with his teeth. They snap, hard, as they close around nothing, and then Jason hears him utter the first whimper of the night when he realizes that with this move, he's just tightened his restraints. 

"Smart," Jason snaps, but his heart his pounding. Deeper down, his cock is pounding, too. "I wanna see you try to get free while I bleed out in front of you. Good thinking."

"So you admit it." He can't see his eyes, but an unhinged smile plays around the brat's lips. "I almost had you."

"Your loss." Jason puts out his cigarette, tosses it into the fireplace to free his hands. "I'm not going anywhere near your mouth again."

"Did I scare y – " Damian begins, but then his words turn into a long, rattling sigh when Jason crawls between his legs, and places a wet kiss on one of his perma-bruised knees. He works his way up his thigh, licking and nibbling his burning hot flesh until it turns raw. He can feel hard muscles twitch and contract beneath his lips, his teeth, and listens to Damian producing an unusually high, tortured noise in his throat. Never goes near his dick, not once.

He grins, finds a spot high up on Damian's inner thigh where the skin is dark and tender, sucks on it until he can be sure it'll bruise.

"Be grateful you don't have to wear those tiny panties your father used to make me put on," he mutters between his legs, hot breath grazing the reddening skin. "You'd have _a lot_ of explaining to do – "

"Stop it." Damian sounds appalled, but interesting enough, it does nothing to soften his erection.

So they're moving into pleading territory now, at long last. Jason raises his head, finds the soft tip of his cock, dips his tongue into the hole to taste the leakage that's seeping out. Damian shudders with a broken moan and tries so very, very hard not to trash in his restraints. When Jason puts a hand on his abdomen, it's as hard as rock underneath his fingers. He digs his nails in, is met with more angry spasms.

" _Tt_ ," he says to the boy's shivering crotch, "Is it so hard to say 'please'?"

He'd like to claim that he does this simply because it's a fun game to him, because treating someone this way comes naturally to him. But that'd be a lie. Part of him – a huge part – does it because he's bitter. Because he's resentful. It's not even about Bruce Wayne, really; he only tosses that into Damian's face because it's effective. But it really is all about him, this boy. He'd been a nigh-unbeatable pain in the ass even as a child, and now, as he's grown into a man – clueless virgin or not – he's turning into something the likes of which this city has never seen. He can call him "kid", "boy", "runt" all he likes, but it rings false and he knows it; Damian is almost as tall as him and could probably toss him across the room if he tried. Jason can tell with devastating clarity that in a few years, nobody will be able to touch him, keep up with him. He's gonna leave all of them in the dust, Nightwing, Batgirl, Red Robin, even the aging Batman. And the Red Hood, too.

Damian doesn't even realize it himself, it seems, not yet. He doesn't have much in the way of friends, so he spends most of his time with his teachers, his mentors, his father and his older brothers (to which Jason _doesn't_ count himself, or else this wouldn't be going down), and despite all his declarations of the contrary, deep inside, he still feels like a kid. But once he'll understand what he's capable of – and that day can't be far, really – he'll go on to be much more than a blueprint of his father, he'll become the most powerful man in Gotham. He has the wealth, the skills, the smarts and the spirit; he's almost ready.

But he's none of that when he's with Jason Todd; here, he's powerless, helpless, at his mercy; his toy. Jason isn't sure why Damian has chosen _him_ of all people, and he still wonders how fast the boy'll drop him once he wises up, but for now it's intoxicating. He can't stop.

He reaches out to cup the struggling boy's balls, feels how ripe and heavy they are, full to bursting. Damian gasps, tries to squirm away from him, but that's hopeless, of course, Jason's gotten too good at this.

"You can't cut it," he says softly, careful to infuse his voice with some pity, "Time's almost up. This is embarrassing." He squeezes him. "Get to begging," he suggests constructively.

"N-no," comes the reply, but his voice almost gives out while he says it.

He really does pity him, in a way. They never fuck, they never blow each other, never even finger each other, barely even touch. Jason wants all these things, he wants them so badly that it nearly makes him scream into his pillow while he pounds himself senseless over these little _episodes_ later, but it's too much fun to get the spoiled brat all riled up, see hope flicker in his eyes, then watch the crushing disappointment when it's all yanked away from right under his nose.

Damian likes to be bound, sure, but he'd probably also like to be held, and kissed, and Jason's not the man to do it. He isn't up for it. There's not enough hugs in the world to repair the damage that's been done to his kid – 

The cable closes around his neck so fast, he never even sees it coming.

He doesn't even have time to blink, much less to raise his hands and do something about it. The cable is wrapped around his neck, once, twice, the rest of it drops to the ground, and he hears a hoarse, ferocious victory cry as Damian rises and drops _him_ , he's _so fast_ , pins him to the floor, fully naked, with bared teeth. His eyes look mad as he tosses away the blindfold, he looks insane, no, he looks _feral_.

 

Okay, perhaps teasing him into a frenzy had not been an _amazing_ idea.

"Yes," The boy whispers, "Yes. _Yes!_ " As if he's already orgasming, which he clearly is not. His erection looks gigantic from this angle, probably because he's pretty large to begin with.

Jason looks up into his unhinged, leering face, and forces himself to keep calm. Damian's knees are pinning his shoulders to the ground; he's freakishly strong. The cable around Jason's neck is tight, but at least Damian's not actively strangling him with it. Good start.

"You …" He swallows; those glowing Christmas lights really hurt like a bitch against his throat. "How long have you been free?"

Damian doesn't reply; which means that it's not been as long as he would've probably liked.

Jason gives him a cocky grin. "I see."

He starts getting a little antsy now, though. Somewhere deep down, he's almost convinced that the boy won't hurt him. But it's Damian. You never know. He could do literally anything to him, right now. He could kill him. Maim him. Break those lights and rub the shards into him. Bind him and shove his cock into any orifice he wants to try.

Instead, he leans down, and crushes his dried-up, chafed lips onto Jason's mouth.

He doesn't want to, but he arches up against him, feeling a surge of sweet, pure, honey-coated lust as Damian sucks on him like a starving man would on an open, dripping fruit. Endlessly. Desperately. Painfully.

He sinks heavily to the floor, catching his breath, when Damian parts from him and tilts his head to observe him, all while his cock twitches endearingly, inches from Jason's face.

And then, he asks: "What's my treat?"

Jason groans. "Are you serious?"

The boy glares at him over his fat, looming dick, knees digging into him. "You promised. Don't … don't hold out on me. It'd be dishonorable."

Jason laughs at him. How crazy is that. He's tormented the little shit for _weeks_ , and he doesn't even want payback. He's won, yet he still wants to play. It's like getting a trophy, then handing it back to the opposing team.

It's …

It's kinda sweet of him, to be honest.

He licks his lips. Makes up his mind. This could be a very bad idea, easily, but Damian has given himself into his hands before, and he kinda wants to see what happens when he returns the favor. He submits, sprawls out underneath him, until every part of him is limp except for the hard-on still caught in his pants.

"Your choice," he challenges him. "Pick something."

He already regrets it when he sees the lunatic greed flare up in the boy's eyes. His breath nearly gets caught in his throat when he retorts, " _Anything?_ "

_Don't say yes._

He flashes him a wild smile. "Sure. Let's see what you can come up w – "

He grunts when Damian gets off him and rolls him onto his stomach, so brutally that Jason's face smashes into the ground. He nearly passes out; he wonders if Damian would've simply kept going if he did.

"Really?" He mumbles, spitting out a mouthful of carpet. The boy is holding him down like a cop would, one arm behind his back. Blood is swiftly leaving his arm; it hurts. " _Really_ , you wanna _lead_ with that?"

"I've earned it." 

His belt is getting undone. Then his pants are getting removed. And then, he feels weirdly vulnerable when soft air touches his bare skin. He suppresses a moan as the boy runs his hands over his ass, way more gently than he would have expected, or deserved. It makes him tremble, makes his dick throb painfully against the Nakahashi's exquisite carpet.

"All right," he growls, lifting his head with some effort. "If you really wanna do this, you'll do it exactly as I say."

He makes it sound stern, but Damian is perceptive, he probably picks up on how nervous he is. Jason has let people fuck him before, but the kid is a wild card, he's inexperienced with a mean streak, which is not a good combination. He half doesn't expect an answer. He half expects some taunting.

But then, he hears the boy say, "I'm listening." He sounds eager. Impatient.

Jason lets out a soft sigh. "My jacket. Top pocket on the left."

He feels Damian roam around for a bit, then hears him chuckle as he pulls out the small bottle. "Mmm," he makes. "You've prepared for me."

"Don't … flatter yourself," the man underneath him huffs. "Maybe I was going to fuck _you_ with it."

"Yeah. Maybe," he hears him open the cap.

"Squirt some of that on your hands. Then put it on me. Work in one finger. Then two … " He pauses. "Y'know, with your equipment, make it four."

The boy does as he's told. His fingers are shivering as they enter him, one after another. Damian is tense all over, trembling in anticipation. He's so caught up in it, he allows Jason to get up on his knees, keeps fingering him as he shudders and his legs open more or less by themselves. 

"…good," he pants before he can bite his lip to make it go away. It's been a long time; longer than he cares to admit.

"Is it?" Damian sounds almost breezy, completely fascinated with what he's doing. Jason doesn't stop him. He's done this before, and he doesn't hurt easily, so technically he wouldn't even need this much prep work. But he enjoys the boy's slick, probing, curious fingers too much to prompt him to move on.

Those fingers have done so much work tonight, and he still doesn't quit.

"You like this." His voice is a low purr. His other hand closes around Jason's cock and yanks it, which is much more kindness than Jason has ever shown him. He works him both ways, until he has him blindly grinding against his hands, forcing him to go deeper, faster, harder, until – 

Until _he_ gets to experience the sudden, twisted pain of being stopped right on the edge of orgasm. The carpeted floor muffles his agonized cry when Damian lets go of him.

"I'm going to do it now." He announces. 

"Nhn. D - "

Oh god, he can't speak. He has carpet burn on his face. He has a string of saliva running out of his mouth. He has Christmas ornaments dangling from his neck. He's clearly not in control of any of this anymore.

"D- do it," he stammers, a permission turned into a plea. "Do it, but do it slo- _hgod_."

Damian has grabbed him by his hips, and pulled him down on his cock with brutal force. Then, he stays perfectly still, waiting for the convulsions to subside. Their bodies are sticking together, fused by fresh, sticky sweat.

"Did that hurt," he inquires. Now _he_ sounds stern. Unsteady; but stern.

"N-no …"

It's true. The shock of being entered so sudden, so deeply, it shakes him to the core, but it doesn't hurt; it aches, in a way that feels maddeningly great.

"Nhn. Good."

When he starts moving, Jason remembers how desperate he's made him. His thrusts are frenzied, his moans needy, his legs wide; and yet, there's something bizarrely gentle in the way he keeps pumping his fist around Jason's dick as he's plowing him, pressing his other hand onto his lower back to feel every contraction rising from deep inside his body.

"Am I good at this," he asks, breathlessly, as if he really wants to know. Through the lust-induced haze, Jason can hear the mounting anxiety in his strained voice, like he believes it could _still_ be taken away from him. "Is this – Is it – "

"Shut up," Jason groans back at him, reaching back to grab a fistful of his hair and pulling it, which is answered by the sharp sting of Damian's teeth digging into his shoulder. " _Yessshutup_ \- "

This is how far they've come. This is how it's deteriorated; from Jason's sweet, controlled little experiment to fucking like animals, on the floor, in a house they've broken into.

He doesn't regret it. Not right now.

He doesn't regret letting him hear, and feel, how good he's coming as he bucks up against him, hard, with a roar coming from deep inside his throat, and shoots his load all over the boy's hands and that carpet he doesn't own.

The next seconds are a blur until he feels Damian's hands snapping shut around his hips again, and notices that he's talking to him.

"Let me," he whispers, and at first, Jason can't even make sense of it. "Let me … let me finish", and _now_ he's begging. There's something touching about the way he can't even make himself call it by its name. "Let me. Tell me I can. _Please_."

Jason looks back at him in a daze. Holy crap, are they still _doing_ this?

All right, well, fine.

"Yes," he mumbles hoarsely, and he feels the boy flat-out swoon as he reaches back and cradles his neck, "Yes. _Now_."

It's hard to tell because his face is contorted with lust and strain, but it almost seems like the boy is smiling, proudly, _gratefully_. It'd be enough to give Jason another hard-on, if he wasn't so spent.

He can't do it at first, though. He's full-on plowing him now, yet he can't do it. This is what Jason has created; a boy in his prime with a deep-seated fear of orgasming. Nice going.

It takes him a few more minutes of fast, frantic fucking until he's finally far gone enough to let himself have it, and his entire body seems to break down as he comes inside him, with something that almost sounds like a shuddering sob, but is probably something else.

They roll around in their own filth for a while after that, panting, spent, unsure what'll happen next. The room is pitch dark, except for the fluorescent Christmas lights surrounding them like a halo.

Jason isn't sure what to say; it seems that whatever comes out of his mouth, it'll be something awkward. But he doesn't have to. It's Damian who speaks first.

"Touch me."

That's all he says. It's not a plea, and it's not an order. It's a request, plain and simple. Jason turns his head to look at him, spread out flat on his back.

"Where?"

Damian's eyelids are low, he's either exhausted, or embarrassed by his own request, possibly both. "It doesn't matter. Touch me."

Jason props himself up on his elbow and takes in the sight of him, a boy who'll probably rule this city one day, a boy who's just given him his virginity, his trust, and probably a hell of a lot else that he's not entirely clear on right now. Without saying anything, he edges closer, places his head on his chest and puts his arm across his stomach. It seems a little ridiculous, but it also seems to work, because Damian's head lulls against his almost immediately. He starts cradling his hair, like he's a cat. It's unfamiliar, a little creepy, and vexing. But it's also pretty good.

They stay like that for a while, until Jason has the mind to look around, and frowns.

"Hey," he looks up at the boy stroking his head. "One question, and I know it's a long shot, but do you know _anything_ about carpet cleaning?"


End file.
